I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.

Nothing has ever been so painful or delicious as being so close to him and being unable to do anything about it: like eating ice cream so fast on a hot day you get a splitting headache.

Something must die so that others can live.

Over the past week, I’ve accepted that I will never love Julian as much as I loved Alex. But now that idea is overwhelming, like a wall between us. I will never love Julian like I love Alex.

The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.

At the same time I know that it’s not really their fault, at least not completely. I did my part too. I did it on a hundred different days and in a thousand different ways, and I know it. But this makes the anger worse, not better.

We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.